Rules

They’s a set o’ Rules for funerals,
	and the deceased’s the least part of ‘em.

Cause these are Rules, long-standin’
	and nobody breaks ‘em, 
		no matter who it was done died!

And while it’s true that customs change,
	they’s still the base, and we all work from it.

You know. Rules.

They’s at the heart of what folks likes to call polite society,
	even in trailers, and mills and such.

They give us ways to make amends,
	and to make friends, 
		and to make up for sins 
that was either the result of something we did, 
	or the result of something somebody we called kin did 
sometime and somewhere nobody even remembers, 
	nor could call to mind, 
no matter how much we might wish to/want to.

	Rules. 

Let somebody pass, and we'll be there to make amends, 
		and the funeral's the place,
and the perfect space
	for saying sorry without any pretence...
or real apologies.